Once every four years I get the chance to indulge in one of my favourite activities, namely becoming a couch potato, regardless of the weather outside, to watch the Olympics. From judo to swimming to fencing to archery to kayaking to whatever else the television programmers decide to throw at me, I watch and enjoy it all. I can't help thinking that here are the real athletes. It's one thing to dedicate yourself to your sport, with all the training and risk of injury that implies, when you make millions in endorsements and become a world-wide star. But for the athletes at the Olympics, there is no money or fame on the line (with the possible rare exception of Michael Phelps-types). They all have other jobs to pay the bills, no one will recognize them in the street, and they will never peddle sodas, shoes, cereal or razors on national television. And still they train, sweat, and suffer just because they love their sport and that's what they do. It's a beautiful thing. And so, despite the paucity of medals on the French side so far, I remain glued to the screen to catch their 15 minutes of glory.
This is my last full day of indulgence however, as tomorrow I head south to witness (literally) another impressive display, namely one of my best friends getting married. Despite the massive writer's block which refuses to lift and threatens to cause me great embarrassment when it comes to the speech-making, I am happy to participate in another joyous event involving one of my close friends (all of whom have recently either gotten hitched or procreated, in a kind of avalanche of growing up which so far has passed me by).
Then it will be time for a final two weeks of holiday in the sun on the beautiful Côte d'Azur before C-Day, i.e. the day I launch my attempt at becoming a consultant.